


That Gum You Like is Going to Come Back in Style

by afogocado



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, inspired by twin peaks but no twin peaks characters or plotlines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afogocado/pseuds/afogocado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Godric’s Hollow is a strange town. Very strange, indeed. Isolated and hundreds of miles from the nearest city, it has always been equipped with necessities suitable to its inhabitants: a grocery store and weekly farmers markets, medical center, police station, schools, library, along with various places of entertainment. But with every small town comes its secrets, and Godric’s Hollow is no stranger to them. And along with its secrets, a small town knows how to keep to itself. So when several of the town’s children go missing and one is found dead, it is up to its police department (headed by detectives Potter and Black) to take the investigation into their own hands. Inspired by Twin Peaks. Title is a quote from Twin Peaks. Marauders are in their early 30s and Harry’s generation are about 9 or 10.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Subplots include: The Order is a secret society dedicated to researching strange phenomenon that shouldn’t be—particularly events and beings existing right in the hollow and in the woods surrounding it. The Death Eaters are an old mafia who found affluence running illegal activities and substances through the town since its inception. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely none of these characters (Thanks, JK Rowling!). I’m just bored and wanting to share this weird headcanon. I don’t own Twin Peaks, either. LE sigh. (Thanks, David Lynch and Mark Frost!).

Sirius Black is smoking a cigarette with a nudie magazine balancing on one knee. He taps his foot rhythmically to the dull radio sounds in the background and when it switches over to the typical late-night advertising, When our Lord and Savior returns, will YOU be one of the millions LEFT BEHIND?

He stares at the pages without really seeing them, flipping to the next one occasionally, and mutters, “Yeah, probably.”

He blows smoke out of the cracked window of the small room. This is his and James Potter’s shared office. The close confines has never bothered either of them seeing as how they’ve been the closest of friends since they can remember. It only seemed appropriate that they both became attracted to the same career path and ended up together. Great minds think alike and they’d done great things on the force while so young and in such a short period of time that it only made sense to the Godric’s Hollow Police Department and town itself that the two become it’s lead detectives, second to only its sheriff, Alastor Moody. Sirius always wondered what his and James’ respective parents would have thought to see them rise above all expectations. Sirius, when young, thought he and James should be destined for nothing lesser than being great football stars, leading the nation during every World Cup. He still smirks at the thought. This is pretty great too, yeah?

It is only when the doorknob rattles left then right, then shakes, following James yelling,   
“Dammit, Sirius, why is the door locked again?!” that Sirius straightens up in his seat, throws the magazine at the coat rack to when it hits the floor in a concealed lump of mangled and tangled pages.

“Er!” He licks his thumb and forefinger, pinching the cherry at the tip of the cigarette before throwing it out the window. He ignores the singed stinging at his fingertips even though the action had been pretty exciting and probably looked cool. The last time he did threw a cigarette out the window without extinguishing the small flame, a medium sized bush caught fire and he grinned, sweaty and lying, at James saying no of course not, he wasn’t smoking INSIDE. He didn’t know how the bush was on fire and maybe they should call someone about that because it was getting quite lively out there.

“Sirius!”

Sirius slams the window shut and starts spraying trashy cologne on his desk, on his chair, on James’ chair, on his head, ass, and into a cross on his chest. He kisses the bottle before setting it down and unlocking the door and cracking it enough to see the face on the other side.

“What in the bloody hell have you been doing in here? What is this?” James motions towards Sirius’ face and the hand covering his mouth. 

“Uh, nosebleed.”

“A nosebleed?” Eyebrows disappear into hairline. 

Sirius nods and looks over James’ shoulder and at the bathroom across from their ajar door. 

“A nosebleed.” James echoes flatly. He pushes himself into the room. “Honestly, Sirius—HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING IN HERE AGAIN? THE BUSH YOU CAUGHT FIRE TO LAST MONTH WASN’T ENOUGH TO TEACH YOU YOU NEED TO DO THIS OUTSIDE?!”

“But it’s cold outside, James!”

“But you probably sat here next to the window and let the gust of wind come in and numb your face.” James could see Sirius in his home, falling asleep while smoking a cigarette, burning his house down, unaware and burning up with it. He could see himself and Frank Longbottom (fireman chief) rolling up onto the scene, but being too late and finding only Sirius’ motorbike untarnished by the flames as he always kept it parked on the other side of the street. 

“You smoke, as well!”

“Yeah, outside.” It was one of James’ side projects to start getting Sirius to smoke outside. Hell, smoking outside in the winter was helping James cut back significantly to where he hoped to quit soon—he hoped this would work for his best mate, eventually.

Sirius huffs and throws himself back down into his leather chair and crosses his arms. James hangs his pea-coat on a hook behind the now-closed door.   
“And you know I don’t care that you smoke inside sometimes. It’s just so tiny in here and what makes it unbearable is the fucking spray you use after!”

“Hey, I use that on myself and you’ve always told me that I smell nice.”

James pretends he doesn’t hear this and busies himself with the Rolodex on his desk. 

Sirius glares and stands up. He opens the door so as to air out the room. James is right. It smells awful when used on a room, the cologne. 

“Oy, James, ready to make the rounds?” He unhooks his fleece quarter zip light scarlet pullover (adorned with gold corduroy elbow patches) and pops the collar. DET. S. Black GHPD is stitched in a badass font on the left of his chest and the Police Department badge is pressed under it with GODRIC’S HOLLOW arched over the top. Under the pullovers is the standard uniform: white button down shirt tucked into charcoal gray slacks, gray socks, gray oxfords. 

James looks up at him with a sideways smile and nods. The evening rounds. Patrolling back roads and alleys in between houses and garages to make sure no asinine shenanigans happen. Mostly the evening rounds consist of catching people in embarrassing situations more so than criminalizing ones, but always a pleasure, regardless.

He shrugs into his own pullover, “Let’s go.”

Remus Lupin is carting books away from behind the head librarian’s desk when he checks the clock. It’s a quarter to nine and he’s already thinking about closing up shop, even though he really ought to stay open until nine. Knew I was a bit early at doing this, but oh well, I suppose. He scratches at the back of his neck almost nervously and exhales a breath he wasn’t aware had built up. The windows show darkness has fallen outside a long time ago and the miniscule glare of light from under a nearby streetlight shows that a sideways misting of rain has started up. He shivers and buttons his light brown argyle cardigan and shakes the sleeves back down to his wrist. 

The day hadn’t been particularly awful, he muses, although there’s still time enough for it to go that way. This isn’t the sort of job one dreads when one wakes up in the morning and knows that it’s time to get ready for work. Remus’ anxiety has given him a hard time finding a job that he particularly enjoys and doesn’t dread waking up for. He remembers back when he served in a restaurant in his late teenaged years and always shudders at less than fond memories. 

The quality of his days back then relied heavily upon his supervisor’s mood, which was almost always foul, which almost always led everything to be taken out on Remus. There’d been a gnawing sickness at the pit of his stomach most mornings back then and he’d been sick some days before going in. He couldn’t even enjoy his evenings once his shifts ended because he still had to come back the next day. And weekends went all too fast, laughing at him as they turned into Monday. But he’d needed the work there until school started up again. August was a blessing in those days. 

No, the library was fine work. Just his speed, and it seemed to keep him a bit sheltered from the outside world at times when he didn’t even realize he needed it. Sometimes, though, there are unruly patrons and that makes some days less enjoyable than others. And some days, you have to deal with a Malfoy or two. And some days, they came at night when you were alone at the assistants were gone for the evening and you were looking forward to having a glass of wine in your small apartment after work. 

“My son tells me that he owes this…” Lucius Malfoy’s grey eyes trace the interior of the first floor. He probably sees every particle of dust and is taking inventory, “place some money.” His eyes blink rapidly and then widen in derision as his grimace turns into acute smugness, “Which I now understand. You obviously are in dire need of some sort of, ah, maintenance?” His eyes flicker to the dim lights towards the back of some shelves off to the side. 

Remus clears his throat and looks up at Malfoy, “I’m sure we’ve an extra light-bulb around here to change that with,” he offers a small smile. “But the real issue at hand is your son’s treatment of library materials. Draco has a nasty habit of keeping the newest books outrageously past due. He hardly ever returns them and when he does, it is in extremely poor condition. Other peoples’ names are on a waitlist for the new arrivals and seeing as how this is a public library, we all must learn how to take turns and to not, ah, hoard.” Remus catches Malfoy’s slight nostril flare of disgust. 

“Surely, these fees are a joke,” Malfoy all but whispers between clenched teeth. “I’ve not heard of a single person actually paying fees in all my time being aware of these places.”

“This is no joke, I assure you, Mr. Malfoy. Each patron reserves the right to check out books, especially the newer ones, in the best condition possible. It is extremely disrespectful, the defacing and juvenile, amateurish graffiti found on the pages on the books your son actually returns. Draco’s account has been blocked because he has, quite admirably I must add, reached the outstanding fee limit of $150 for children’s and young adult books. Something that hasn’t been done in my almost ten years of being here.” Remus glares politely at the small white headed and scowling boy dressed in what looked like a Brooks Brothers for kids three-piece suit minus the jacket. “Perhaps the greatest lesson that can be taught to Draco here is what acceptable behavior is and is not.” Remus looks Malfoy directly in his cold eyes. “I trust you will find a way to fit that into your busy schedule.”

“My busy schedule,” Malfoy spat, “Is none of your concern.”

“No, you see that is where you are incorrect, Mr. Malfoy. It is my concern when you march in here not ten minutes before closing time and try to talk your son out of trouble when it is my duty at this time to take care of this building and make sure it is ready for everyone by morning. It is my concern when the wealthiest man in town, who fights every year to evade taxes even, thinks $150 is an outrageous amount of money to spend on something.” You are an outrageous man, Mr. Malfoy. “Pay the fee. Make your son get a summer job mowing lawns to pay you back. This is what actual families do, Mr. Malfoy.”

“And what,” Malfoy grits his teeth and digs around in his wallet for the exact amount of cash to cover Draco’s outstanding fee, “would you know about family?”

Remus swallows and locks the money Malfoy slaps into his hand away. “Draco’s library privileges will be restored within forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Processing fees takes time.”

Malfoy grips his sleek black cane with the solid skull-carved pewter, lips a thin and almost invisible line. “Come, Draco.”

Slamming the door proves impossible and Remus smiles to himself. He goes over to lock the entrance and pull the shades over the glass windows. He backs into the shades and slides down, ignoring the jittering sound his cardigan makes against them until he is sitting, hugging his knees to his chest to stop his hands from shaking. 

There were some people who had the talent to make him feel like a teenager again, and not in the good and cliché way.

“Dets,” Molly Weasley, the head dispatcher called at Sirius and James when they returned from a fruitless evening of rounds. “Something in the mailbox for you.”

“Who’s it from?” James asks through a furrowed brow. 

“Yeah, we never get mail. Unless it’s a Christmas card,” Sirius says hopefully in a joking manner, knowing full well that Christmas is all but three months and some change away.  
Molly offers a kind smile. She looks far more tired these days than she ever has, even when the twins were much younger and Arthur, deputy sheriff, had longer nights at the precinct. I would be tired too, Molly, thinks James while pondering the youngest and only daughter of the Weasley children, if I had more than one kid. I don’t know how you and Arthur do it, and do it quite well. 

Sirius takes the unmarked envelope and turns it in his hands, “Probably a joke, you know,” he remarks about the blank whiteness.

“Open it,” James urges.

Sirius, with deft fingers, opens it perfectly without tearing it or roughing any of the edges. He pulls out a folded piece of paper and shakes it open. Both detectives tilt their heads to the side when they see it is not written or typed, but a collage of words cut from glossy magazines and newspapers bearing an anonymous message: 

A long time ago, someone told me that when I grew up, I would be surprised with what I could live with. I always thought they were wrong and I always wanted to prove them wrong. I thought I would grow up to be outstanding, above immorality and treachery, shining and not burning, with a brave heart. And I think it took me to realize that all the moments after those instances of grandiose daydreams, I was not yet grown.   
But I am grown now. And I am going to do great things. Terrible, but great things, and I will be brave to go far and take these things far.   
As of now, I am not surprised by the ‘awful’ things I can live with, as I was told I would be so long ago. I want to see how far I can go. I want to see if I really am able to surprise myself. Perhaps I will surprise you along the way,   
Detectives. Let’s see if you can stop me. Let the games commence.

“Holy shit,” James murmurs.   
With wide eyes, Sirius nods in agreement.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, but I seem to be having trouble breaking up the sections. I’m going to just start numbering the sections to indicate a scene change—that is my typical writing style anyway. The numbers won’t carry any other significance apart from separating sections. Each chapter will start again at 1.

***  
1

Remus is at the famer’s market on Thursday, like he is every Thursday. Only this time, he has company…however reluctant he feels about that company. 

The farmer’s market comes around once a week during the months that aren’t unbearable—this would be one of the last markets in the hollow. There are still a good amount of produce and such in season as was there still a good amount of people milling about the different makeshift stands out on the main streets’ shared plaza. A small quartet of scruffy kids is playing acoustic instruments and they actually sound pretty good considering the kinds of folk songs they cover. One of the little shops a fruit stand sits out front of is a patisserie where the workers bake fresh bread in wood burning or stone stoves—its smell waifs deliciously over with the rest of the market’s foods. 

The sun cast an almost auburn light on the nearby trees and the stony brick cobbled streets and sidewalks. This is the nicest day to come in weeks. Too much rain, everyone has been saying, too much rain. People are dressed in colorful sweaters, pullovers, and scarves. There is pink on their cheeks as they talk excitedly with companions and nibble on pieces of fruit they unable to wait to have for later. 

The wind tousles Remus’ sandy hair and he likes to think he looks as jovial as the rest of these people. He is walking with a light brown wicker basket dangling from the inner crook of his elbow. He goes for the absolute last tomato (still quite red, too) when he hears a tutting in his ear. 

“I’m afraid I’ve had my eye on that, as well, Lupin.”

Remus holds back an insatiable urge to roll his eyes at Severus Snape and his drawling voice. He almost looms over Remus, is taller by a head, and is dressed in black slacks, a black sweater vest with a dark grey button down under it. At his wrist is a beautiful watch with a pewter wristband with four or five dials in its face. Remus doesn’t know what anyone would need with that many dials in a watch, but apparently Severus needs them. His appearance is nearly immaculate, but his hair shows signs of it—or himself—not being washed in at least a week. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it to one side. His black eyes are twinkling. 

“Severus,” Remus says amiably enough. His smile is small under his moustache. 

Severus raises an eyebrow, expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, if you really want the tomato, by all means, be my guest.”

“That is so like you, Lupin. To allow someone to step on your toes once more,” he takes the tomato and puts in the basket clenched in his hand, at his side.

“I just know that you tend to think of everything anyone does as a slight to you, so I want to spare myself the unnecessary drama.”

“I see,” Severus mumbles and follows Remus once he starts walking again. “Your dear friend Black came calling at my place of work this morning. Any idea why?”

Remus wonders if perhaps this is about Lucius Malfoy’s visit to the library the other night, but says nothing about that. He’d told Sirius about that in confidence, not wanting to press charges or anything, but with the intention to just vent about how his day went. To a friend. Surely Sirius didn’t see the need to stand up for Remus and go hunting down one of Malfoy’s supposed best mates. “No, I wouldn’t have any idea about what any of that is about.”

“Hmph,” Severus busies himself with looking over strawberries as Remus puts a package of some in his own basket. They’re for Sirius. “I was under the impression that we were all adults and none of this old school nonsense would crop up again. I’m sure he wouldn’t be abusing his power to target me like the good ole’ days, right?”

Remus nods slowly, knowing that Sirius wouldn’t go after Snape unless something foul was going on reasonably enough to where they had suspicions to reach out to Severus. James wouldn’t let Sirius go charging after people for no good reason no matter how much he despised them. They learned that lesson early on when they would pull in suspects willy-nilly and for almost no reason. It was chalked up to bad detective work, but Remus knew better. It was some strange revenge—a way to haze the terrors that terrorized them before they were able to stand together and up for themselves.

“Whatever the case, I hope your little friends are aware of the fact that if they start coming after my friends and I, we may be able to do something about how this town perceives their precious detectives and librarian and his certain…proclivities. Your friends know all about that, don’t they? Especially Black?”

They didn’t. And he didn’t. At least not yet. Remus had only been their friend not even a year and a half yet, first befriending Sirius right at the end of his, Remus’, first year living in Godric’s Hollow.

“What’re you going to do? Put this on blast for me to be ridiculed? Lose my job?”

Several people turn their heads to look at the two standing together. Some frown. Some pull their outerwear closer to their bodies as they hurry by. Severus gives most of them the side eye before watching the coming clouds block the sun from view. Shop owners are turning some of the kerosene street lamps on.

Severus brings his attention back to Remus and arches an eyebrow, “Why would you ask that, Lupin, when you know no one cares about such silly things? I don’t care about that. Why would I care enough to cause a ruckus over it?” He pronounces the ‘t’ so sharply that Remus almost flinches. 

But the mirth behind the rough pronunciation gives Remus hope that Severus does know how to mind his business, after all and has enough sense to stray from the particular absurdities that his own friend group gets themselves into. 

Severus chews the inside of his cheek, at his tongue. “You know…it does get quite easier once one learns that other people could not care less about what you or everyone else is doing. And contrary to what you said about me earlier, I really don’t think anyone slights me. At least not without the intention of doing so.”

“Yeah? And what about those people who care too much about what everyone else does with their life? Tells you that you must pick one or the other. That what you feel is just to show off, seek attention?”

Severus shrugged. “They’re not worth the time of day and you ought not give a damn what they think about you. You will always be an outsider to this place, just as much as I am. People don’t see me as the most pleasant bastard, but they don’t think me entirely unfortunate, either. Regardless, Lupin, I could not care less. Once you learn to live thinking like that and internalizing that, you will unlearn all of the trite that makes you such a nervous wreck to begin with.”

Wanna bet? Remus thinks, but can’t help wanting to hear what else Severus had to say about the subject. Perhaps that was all he had to say.

“People like you are always taken advantage of and that’s all there is to it. Now, I can see since you’ve been here, you’ve learned how to stand up for yourself some. That is good. That is growth.” Remus wonders if Lucius Malfoy had gone to Severus with stories of the other night. “You must get better at doing that. Otherwise, you will be a doormat.”

“Well what about you, then? You’re not touched by anything or anyone. You’re probably one of those that take advantage of people. If it weren’t for people like you, I’d have nothing to worry about, yeah?”

“You think I have no heart. Well, that just means I’ve done my job, that I wear my mask well. No one bothers me for a damn thing unless I want something from them first. But I always reciprocate.” 

“That’s no way to coexist with people.”   
“I don’t need people. There are things that I want, things that I figure out myself and get for myself. It took me a long time to learn how heartless most people are and how the only function for the bastards of the world is for them to be a plaything. The only thing I need from people are precise,” he eyes Remus, “pleasures.” 

Remus wonders if his gulp is noticeable and audible. 

“See you next Thursday, Lupin,” Severus murmurs and slips the tomato into Remus’ basket before leaving alone.

Remus cares too much about a lot of things. About everything. And especially what other people think. People like Sirius Black. And now, people like Severus Snape.

 

2

If the adults went away at all, left Godric’s Hollow, they always came back to take care of it and the people there. James used to think it was out of loyalty or some kind of misplaced nostalgia, but he was beginning to learn it was something else. A something else he couldn’t entirely put his finger on yet, but he knew he would get to it, eventually. Why else had so many families lived here generation after generation? Living and dying in the same house, over and over, like some sick and strange ritual. 

“It could be Malfoy.” James doesn’t mean to say this out loud when he first thinks it, but it is one of those thoughts that can’t help but make it apparent to a companion. He wonders if it is Malfoy and even more than that, wonders if there’s anything they could do about it. 

“Of course it’s Malfoy.” Sirius gnashes his teeth. “It’s always Malfoy. I say we go up there right now!” He punches his fist into a cupped palm. “Kick the door in, even!”

James covers both of Sirius’ hands with his own. “No. We don’t work like that.” He steeled his hazel glare into Sirius’s blazing ones. Sirius falters slightly.

“But we know what awful people they are, James! You’ve said it before yourself. You know they must get into all kinds of trouble. Starting with the old codger Malfoys from back when this place was nothing but dirt!”

“I know,” James squeezes his best friend’s hands. “But that would make us no better than they are. We don’t play like that. You always said that, as soon as we put the badge on. We don’t play like—.”

“‘Those other guys.’ Yeah. I know. How long until the letter comes back from forensics?”

“At least two weeks.”  
Sirius curses under his breath and James nods gravely in agreement. “Has it always taken that long?”

“I think so.”

“When will we be able to have something like that here?” Sirius sounds impatient even though James is sure he knows the answer to that question. Bad things don’t happen in large enough quantities in Godric’s Hollow to necessitate labs and blood spatter analysts. 

Sirius lights a cigarette and listens to James explain, “I don’t know if it’ll ever be in our budget. We’d have to go to the chamber of commerce or something like that. I’m sure we could figure it out.” He takes a drag of the cigarette when it is passed to him and inhales deeply. When he exhales, his voice is thick, “But I dunno. We’ll see.”

Sirius shakes some of the hair that has fallen into his eyes away. We’ll see, we’ll see. He gets it cut more often than when they were younger. A shorter cut (but not too short) looks better on him than the longer and shaggier look of youth. Most of his admirers seem to agree. 

“You heard what Remus said about Malfoy. That was right before we went back into the station. He could’ve popped in before or after going to the library.”

“Look, just because Lucius showed up at the library—”

“Being intimidating and unpleasant!”

“Just because he was at the library and well, yes, intimidated Remus, doesn’t mean he was the one to drop the letter off. And even if he did drop the letter off, that doesn’t mean he was its author.”

“You just said so yourself that you thought it was Malfoy.” Sirius raises his eyebrows at his partner and snubs out the cigarette under his beautiful shoe. 

James spits and makes a face, “I know. He’s the best suspect we’ve got to work with right now. But that doesn’t mean he did it. And just because he is unpleasant doesn’t give us enough grounds to conduct a search of his body or home.”

“What if we follow him around? For a day? A half day?” 

James bit his lip, “I don’t know if that is something all right to do.”

“We could ask Moody! Or Arthur, even!”

“But we didn’t show them the letter when we first got it. Technically, we may be withholding evidence. That’s license for suspension.”

“Well, whatever crime it’s evidence of, the crime clearly hasn’t happened yet.”

“We are the detectives, Sirius. This is something that would get shuffled right back to us with a Post-It recommending or giving a referral to a forensics office. Which we’ve already been in contact with.”

“So we have to wait. That’s all we can do.”

“Yes, and be vigilant.”

“Constantly,” Sirius says humorlessly. 

“Absolutely.” James says gravely.

 

3

Sirius is balancing a small composition notebook with bicycles on the cover of it on his knee, a pen in his left hand, “What do you know about this place? Do you know anything about the people who live here? I know you haven’t been here long, but I don’t know what all you’ve heard of if you’ve heard anything remotely sketchy lately.” 

He really wants to ask other questions. Why did you come here? Why are you here, Remus? This is a nasty place. You don’t seem to be a nasty person. Just ask him these simple questions, dammit, Black. You know he didn’t do any of this nonsense. It’s a set up and he’s been thrown under the bus just because he’s new and THEY knew that we would investigate him first. Because what would the rest of the hollow think when they found out that we didn’t come here first? Goddamn you, propriety.

“This place here? Not much in the year I’ve been here. I’ve heard some things, sometimes. But I don’t think any of what I’ve heard is true or is relevant to this,” Remus waves a hand at the letter with the cut and paste words on the coffee table in between them. “But that goes with just about anything, any place. Doesn’t it? All the talk.” Remus furrows his brow at him. 

Perhaps Sirius finds what he’s said more puzzling than Remus has intended. People have fucking talked everywhere I’ve been. I don’t know why I’ve actually allowed it to surprise me this time around. I suppose that being somewhere like this; this far away from the ‘world’ may have made a difference. I know you want me gone, Detective Black. That the town wants me gone. Hate to tell you, I’m too broke to get gone, so unless you would like to take up a collection…I’m sure there are plenty of people who would donate. “I thought this would be a beautiful place to move to and it turns out, I was right. I don’t care for cities too much.”

Sirius nods like he knows what Remus is talking about and Remus watches Sirius’ lithe fingers slip over the spoon and stir his coffee gently. Steam is still billowing out of the red mug even when he plops an ice cube from a nearby glass of water into it. Remus doesn’t tell Sirius that it’s his, Remus’, glass of water. The glass is sweating like Remus’ brow. 

They are in the back office in the library that Remus works in. He’s been bumped up from librarian’s assistant to temporarily the librarian on account of Ms. Pince being severely ill at the moment and for the unforeseeable future. The room is a cross between cozy and cramped. The only great thing about it was the large picture window overlooking a neighboring garden.

The summer is hotter than usual and even the televisions and newspapers have said something about this region going through an abnormal bout of a heat-wave. This is, of course, something he hadn’t prepared for nor was used to, being that he’d only lived here going on one year. The summer before had required solely long pants and sweaters ranging from a light to semi-heavy knit. Remus can’t think of a single article of clothing thinner than flannel or wool in his closet at the moment and is troubled, which makes him sweat more profusely. Does he think Remus an idiot for his thick navy button down? How is Sirius accustomed to wear that pullover and the layers beneath it for these insurmountable dog days? Remus almost goes to ask this, but Sirius beats him to breaking the silence. 

“What is something they say? Something they’ve told you? About this place?” Sirius asks. 

Remus doesn’t bother wondering how he knows who ‘they’ constitutes. He has a pretty good idea, a few have been around to see him, and Sirius fights the urge to roll his eyes at the thought of them. Remus wonders how Sirius could remain so cool in this humidity when his chest is tight and his lungs have forgotten how to do their job.

“They tell me this place is hell…or, leads to it, rather. That it leads to a lot of strange places.”

“Like the hell you get to from living a life of sin or that this place, purely in location, is hell itself?” Sirius thinks briefly of the Jesus man he hears on the radio from time to time, but only when he is doing something moderately to severely naughty. He thinks of the group of fanatical and oftentimes hysterical folks who live around here.

Remus scoffs through his nose. “A bit of both, I suppose. They were such strange people. I only assumed that they did this to all the new people in town. As a sort of initiation thing, you know?”

“Why do you think they would say such things? Did they say anything else? Anything suspicious? Or were they joking around, being jerks the whole time?”

Remus takes a minute to ponder Sirius’ question and glances outside, catching a brief image of dry winds tousling things litterbugs have left behind throughout their daily excursions. The sun is hidden for a moment and he doesn’t have to squint against a glare coming in from the other side of the picture window’s thick glass. There’s a bird bath next to some green plants. An all-too-fat pigeon lads and splashes around. A small smile plays upon Sirius’ lips and Remus wonders if Sirius will part them to coo for the animal. He doesn’t. And Remus’ chest remains tight. He tugs at his button down shirt, wondering if it’d be improper to unbutton the next button in front of Sirius. Perhaps he will steal another glance at the tubby bird outside and then Remus will have a chance. 

Remus clears his though, “This is a small town and it’s all but in the middle of nowhere. I only assume that people do get up to awful things from time to time just to rise about the doldrums that they may be prone to falling into…But I don’t know if these guys are capable of writing something like this.”

“I only ask because, you know, what you told me the other night. With Lucius Malfoy.”

Remus feels his neck and cheeks flush, “I don’t even know why I told you that.”

Sirius sighs and tucks the notepad into his back pocket. He folds the odd letter delicately and slips it into his shirt’s breast pocket. “Thanks for your time, Remus. Hate to be all business like this.”

“I understand.”

“You ought to come to James and Lily’s for supper tomorrow evening. They told me to extend the invitation your way.”

Remus hopes his smile doesn’t look as tight as it feels as he agrees that yes, that would be lovely. And that he hopes they figure out who’s mucking about with them. 

Sirius sighs and tells him he hopes it’s just a bunch of kids messing around.


End file.
